


Why Did the Chicken Cross the Road?

by owlbeshipping (ebouros)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gross description of a motel room, Human Castiel (Supernatural), M/M, Smut, deep convos, handjobs, seriously don't read this if you're squeamish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-14 21:53:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20607920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ebouros/pseuds/owlbeshipping
Summary: After reading "A Night at Rico's", my friend decided that there needed to be more food-centric Supernatural fanfics. In this story, we explore what happens when one eats a bit too much of one the most classic, comforting take-out foods: rotisserie chicken. Also explored: Dean's sexuality.





	Why Did the Chicken Cross the Road?

“Okay, I’ll just wait here, then,” said Castiel.

That was basically his catchphrase. Dean used to ask himself what the hell the angel did whenever he wasn’t hanging around Sammy and himself, but judging by how often Cas said those words, he ended up deciding the answer was probably “not much”.

Sure, Castiel had zoomed around the Earth looking for God at some point, and he usually participated in whatever drama was going on in the realm of heavenly politics, but that stuff was, like, seasonal work. It came and went, in other words.

Pretty much like Castiel’s powers.

He was basically like an old battery that couldn’t hold its charge anymore. How many times at this point had Cas lost his mojo for one reason or another? Enough for Dean to lose count, for sure.

The present moment was one of those times when Cas was less “walking holy hand grenade” and more “squishy rube”. This meant that the place the Winchesters were going to was definitely _not_ safe for him. A group of dragons had been terrorizing a local nunnery, and the boys had managed to locate their lair in an abandoned underground parking lot. It was time for Sam and Dean to go boot some newt.

It was unanimously decided that Castiel would wait out the fight at the motel. Well, at least, unanimously in Dean’s eyes - he made the decision, Sam nodded in agreement, and Castiel’s protests were not acknowledged.

So, it’s with a dejected looked on his face that the former angel watched the Winchester brothers get ready to leave the dingy motel room in which they had been hiding out.

“This might take a while. If you get hungry, Cas, there are some takeout menus on the table”, pointed out Sam as he walked out of the room, a duffle-bag filled with weapons slung across his broad shoulders.

The angel glanced sceptically at the collection of brightly colored pamphlets scattered across the cheap melamine console.

“I don’t know these establishments. How will I know which ones are adequate?” asked Castiel.

“Dude, I don’t know, just get chicken or something. There’s a place right across the street”, grumbled Dean. “Come on Sam, we gotta go. Time is dead nuns. You, don’t you dare leave this room or I’ll kick your ass so hard you’ll puke shoelaces.”

“I don’t think that’s anatomically possible,” deadpanned the angel with a confused look on his face. Dean thought that he looked like one of those eagles he’d seen on the internet, the ones that are photographed from the front instead of the side and look like they don’t have the slightest clue what’s going on. Kind of endearing, really.

“Well, you know what to do if you want to find out,” he replied, trying very hard to sound threatening.

And with that, the brothers left.

***

The dragon thing ended up being… well, a whole thing.

Before going in, Sammy had studied the layout of the underground lot and had successfully identified where the monsters kept their victims. The plan was to sneak in unnoticed and release the nuns before taking out the lizard bastards one by one.

It actually worked pretty well. The brothers saved the nuns (although Dean was a little disappointed to find out that they were all, like, a _million_ years old - _Casa Erotica_ movies were decidedly _not_ to be believed about nuns) and took out all the dragons.

Well, all the dragons they knew about.

Turns out the dragons had a mama - a terrifying, hulking matriarch who never left the hideout, which means that the brothers had no idea she was there. She quite easily got the jump on them, and proceeded to lock them up in cages with the intention of A) avenging her sons by driving them insane and B) using them as breeding stock to replace said sons.

Sam and Dean thankfully escaped before any of those outcomes materialized, but the lengthy ordeal ended up taking a solid week.

As they drove back to the motel in the Impala, Dean found himself thinking about Cas.

“I’m surprised he didn’t turn up all gung-ho trying to bust us out. Maybe something happened to him”, he told Sam.

“Not necessarily. You _did_ tell him not to leave the room”, replied the younger Winchester absently. He looked as pale and exhausted as Dean felt.

“Like that’s stopped him before. Not listening to me is like, his main hobby.”

“C’mon, Dean, there’s no point in worrying”.

“I’m not worrying, I’m just thinking out loud”, huffed Dean. “Whatever, we’ll find out soon enough.”

***

The first thing the brothers noticed when they got out of the car was the rancid smell hanging over the parking lot outside their motel room.

“Sweet baby Jesus”, groaned Dean. “I know the _Econo Lodge_ ain’t exactly fancy, but it smells like the bottom of a KFC dumpster bin out here”.

Sam scoffed. “How would you even know what that smells like?” he asked, fishing out the motel room key from one of his jacket pockets.

“Hey, I’m just telling it like I’m smelling it”.

Sam unlocked the door, pushed it open, and immediately recoiled as a waft of putrid air escaped the darkened motel room - it looked like they had found the origin of the stench.

Dean’s stomach lurched, and for a couple seconds, he had to concentrate real hard on suppressing the urge to throw up the perfectly decent slice of gas station cherry pie that he’d wolfed down on his way to the motel.

The instant Dean regained control, however, he ran into the room. He knew that smell - he knew it all too well. Death. Decaying flesh… it had to be a corpse. They were gone too long, weren’t they?

An image flashed through his brain - Castiel lying on the floor, his all too mortal body slowly disintegrating on the shaggy carpet of the motel room...

“Cas!” he shouted. “Cas!”

Sam followed right behind Dean and threw the light switches on. The brothers’ eyes adjusted after a couple of seconds and they were finally able to take in the grisly scene before them.

The entire room - the console, the floor, the beds (oh, God, _especially_ the beds) - was covered in a pandemonium of revolting, foul-smelling, rotting… take-out boxes.

“Sweet baby Moses”, murmured Dean under his breath.

He crouched down to examine one of the boxes: it was filled with the remnants of a chicken thigh and a bunch of dirty crumpled napkins. Dried bits of meat were still stuck to the bones, emitting the very acrid scent that had just assaulted the brothers’ noses.

The box itself was yellow - they all were - and bore the logo of “The Roasted Rooster”, the chicken restaurant across the street. “_Might as well have called it the Grilled Cock_”, Dean thought, managing to vaguely amuse himself now that he could see there was no dead angel on the floor.

“W-What happened here?” stammered Sammy. Dean turned to look at him, and saw that he looked absolutely horrified. Moreso, probably, than if they had actually encountered a corpse in their motel room.

Dean had only begun to think of a suitable rejoinder when the pile of trash on one of the beds suddenly stirred, sending an avalanche of food scraps and used plastic utensils tumbling down to the floor.

“Sam? Dean? Is that you?” croaked a raspy voice as a confused face emerged from beneath the mound of garbage.

Dean barely managed to suppress a scream. It was Castiel.

“Cas! What the hell are you doing under there?” screamed Dean. “And what the hell is all of this? We thought you were dead!”

Castiel sat up with a hoarse grunt, sending more cardboard boxes spilling onto the floor. His skin had unhealthy sallow hues and his clothes were mottled with orange grease stains.

“I was hiding”, he croaked. “But I… fell asleep.”

He then rubbed his eyes, slumping forward a little before raising his gaze to meet Dean’s.

“I thought _you_ were dead”.

Dean opened his mouth, but no words came to him. Sammy shot him a sideways glance, which was clearly expressing what he was himself realizing: damn it all, they were not the ones standing on the moral high ground right now, were they?

That alone wouldn’t normally have stopped Dean from snapping back something sassy, but… Cas looked downright pitiful, with his rumpled shirt, dirty hair and scraggly beard. Dean sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in a gesture of irritation.

“We were, let’s say, _delayed_ while dealing with the dragon situation. I’m… we’re okay.”

Castiel nodded, a soft sigh leaving his throat - the tired breath of relief of someone who’d exhausted themselves fretting.

“That’s good.”

Dean then focused his eyes on a particularly gross piece of rotting meat on the floor and cleared his throat ostensibly.

“Okay, enough with the mushy stuff - we seriously need to get out of here before my nose commits suicide. Sammy, grab your things.”

“Uh, Dean... we can’t just leave like this.”

“And why the hell not?”

“Just think about it for a second. This is bad enough that the motel could press charges to have us pay for damages, and if they want to do that, they’ll track us using the credit card number we gave them.”

“So let’s toss it. Problem solved.”

“It’s the brand-new platinum American Express that you got registered to Mr. _Dante Thunderstone_.”

Dean audibly groaned. That card had thousands of dollars left on it. And it had such a cool fake name! It was pretty rare that the Winchesters were able to pull of a scam of this quality - his brother's argument was unfortunately compelling.

“Fine. We’ll clean. But you take out the trash.”

“What? Why me?” indignantly asked Sammy.

“Because there are two messes to clean up in here”, said Dean, pointing to the take-out boxes and then to Castiel. “Pick one.”

Sam sighed.

“I’ll go get garbage bags.”

***

Dean closed his eyes, leaning back against the bathroom door. He could hear the rhythmic pitter-patter of running water coming from the shower - his job so far had basically been to pull Castiel out of his garbage cairn and throw him in there.

“_That was too easy_”, thought Dean disappointedly. “_Guess that when Sammy comes back, I’ll have to help with the trash._”

He opened his eyes and surveyed the apocalyptic landscape that their motel room had become while they were gone. They’d have to be more careful about leaving Castiel by himself - dude clearly lacked some basic notions of how to human.

Guilt suddenly tugged at a heartstring Dean didn’t know he had. He’d kind of assumed that mortal Cas was pretty much like angel Cas, only like, less smitey. However, he was turning out to be a lot more vulnerable than anticipated.

That actually made a lot of sense, now that Dean was thinking about it. How weak must a wingless angel feel, being forced to walk through a world where he’s basically an alien? The Winchesters hadn't taken that into account, which probably meant that they hadn’t been doing right by him.

Something suddenly dawned on Dean.

“_...Did he order all this chicken because I told him to?_”

He was right there in his cogitations when he heard a series of loud thuds echo behind the door he was leaning against.

“...Cas? You ok?” Dean called tentatively.

No answer came from the bathroom - just the sound of the shower, still running.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Dean cursed under his breath.

He spun around and broke the door open with his shoulder, mentally thanking the shittiness of motel bathroom locks. Inside, sprawled on the yellowed tiles of the bathroom floor, tangled in the cheap shower curtain like a wet seagull in a plastic bag, was Castiel. The scene would probably have been hilarious... if not for the fact that he wasn’t moving.

Dean leapt to his side, scooped him in his arms and removed the curtain from the angel’s head, revealing his waterlogged hair and a pallid face with closed eyes.

“Wake up,” Dean growled, shaking him unceremoniously. “Don’t make me slap you, Cas, I swear to God…”

Perhaps his plea was indeed heard, because seconds later, Castiel twitched and groaned in Dean’s arms like he was waking up with a killer hangover.

“What...happened?” Cas asked weakly as he opened a pair of bleary eyes and looked at Dean.

“Good question. Please don’t tell me this is the day I discover that a grown-ass man can drown in the shower”.

Castiel blinked.

“I don’t think I was drowning. I must have fallen asleep.”

Dean suppressed a scream of frustration.

“You _what_?”

He let go of Cas, who fell back onto the tiled floor with a wet slap. Angrily, Dean jumped back to his feet. _Who the hell_ falls asleep standing up? In the shower? He had run in and cradled him dramatically like he was on his deathbed, for fuck’s sake! He had…

He had _worried_ about him. Dammit.

“Dean… I’m sorry”.

The hunter’s earlier thoughts came back to him - the angel really had no clue how to take care of himself properly, did he? Dean knelt back down next to Castiel, who was still on the bathroom floor, wrapped in the shower curtain like a caterpillar in a weird plastic cocoon.

“Have you slept at all during the past week?” asked Dean in a voice he tried hard to make sound gentle. “And eaten anything else other than chicken?”

Castiel’s lips parted but nothing escaped from them. He looked into Dean’s eyes instead - an unwavering, uncomfortably focused stare.

“Yeah, I figured,” grumbled Dean. “Look, Sammy’s the salad lover of the group - I’m not exactly Mr. Two Scoops of Raisins myself - but just, that’ll mess you up.”

The angel nodded and sighed.

“This is all very disorienting for me”, he confessed. “And… you weren’t coming back. Eventually, I became afraid you never would.”

“Look, I get it. I feel like that every time Sammy goes off on his own. Or... every time _you_ go off on your own. But going to pieces over it doesn’t help anybody. ‘Would just jack up the body count if something bad actually happened, yeah?”.

“I suppose.”

They both fell silent. Dean decided that was his cue to get out of there, feeling very much embarrassed and perhaps even a little red in the face after all that... sincerity.

“Well, uh, good talk. I’ll leave you to finish showering now.”

“Dean, wait.”

Unexpectedly, he felt a warm, slightly wet hand grab his forearm and pull downwards.

“Please don’t leave yet.”

***

Before Dean knew what was happening, he found himself perched on top of Cas. The angel grabbed the back of his head with all his might to pull him into a kiss.

“Cas, wh-”

Castiel pressed his mouth against his with a forcefulness that betrayed desperation, as if he was trying to steal the kiss before Dean could fight him off. However, maybe it was the surprise, but the Winchester didn’t have the reflex to pull away. He twitched as he felt Castiel’s short bitten nails sink into his skin, shaking either from cold or from sheer _need_.

After a few seconds, Castiel tore away on his own and opened his eyes to meet Dean’s. They had a fever-shine to them, their shade of blue looking unnaturally bright under the bathroom neons.

“Dean”, he said in a low, oddly urgent voice. “When you were gone, I realized how much I... how much I need you. I don’t understand why I feel this way.”

“Cas, you - you don’t know what you’re saying.”

The angel gave a sad chuckle.

“Maybe I don’t. I don't know anything about being human.”

Dean swallowed hard. He was suddenly realizing that the only thing between him and the very naked angel under him was a crumpled shower curtain, and their faces were now so close to one another that he could almost _taste_ the humid heat rising from the angel’s skin. Dean felt like his brains had suddenly been replaced with a wad of pillow stuffing - he was finding himself unable to form any sort of coherent thought. Why wasn’t he saying or doing anything? Why was he even still on that bathroom floor?

Why was he inching closer and closer to Cas, until his chest was flush against his and their lips met again?

Those questions had no answers in sight, and yet...

Dean felt the angel’s chapped lips move against his, his tongue (now minty-fresh, he noticed, how great was it that he told the angel to brush his teeth before jumping into the shower - wait, why was that what he was thinking about?) finding its way into his mouth, warm and velvet-soft.

A sound halfway between a moan and a whimper rose from Castiel’s throat, a lovely sound made of equal parts surprise and pleasure, and Dean felt an unmistakable throbbing in his jeans. What in the blazes was going on? He’d never had the hots for another dude before!

Well, unless you counted that one time as a teenager when he was flipping channels (in a motel room much like this one) and landed on a retransmission of one of Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson’s early WWE matches. But that couldn’t possibly count, could it? Those thick muscles glistening with oil, and those deep manly grunts... anyone with any sort of sex drive would have been aroused, right?

_Right?_

Dean’s train of thought was interrupted when he felt Castiel break the kiss, out of breath, and tug at the hem of his t-shirt clumsily - he was obviously trying to remove it but his hands were trembling too hard. Dean grabbed the angel’s wrists and pulled them away.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to... it’s just, your shirt, it got damp...” stammered the angel. He had this confused eagle look about him again (why did it suit him so much?).

Dean pulled his shirt over his head and threw it in the bathtub. Castiel’s eyes fixated on his anti-possession tattoo for a second before scanning the rest of his chest hungrily, as if he couldn’t decide if he wanted to touch him or look at him some more. Eventually he made a choice, and his hands rose to stroke Dean’s skin, gently at first, but with a mounting intensity betraying thirst, as if he was trying to drink him through his fingertips.

Dean had only seen that look once before - in the eyes and face of one particularly enamored woman he’d managed to pick up at a roadside bar. It was pure, unadulterated lust.

His downstairs brain must have finally managed to take over completely, because he dove down once more, circling his arms around Castiel’s shoulders and kissing him again. Their bodies collided harder than before, the force of it slamming Castiel’s back against the bathroom floor.

Dean would have perhaps felt a twinge of guilt for being so rough if the angel hadn’t quite literally moaned in his mouth upon impact, deep and wanton and heartrendingly sincere. Castiel’ arms encircled his waist to pull him even closer, until he felt the angel’s cock hard against his own, through barriers of jeans and boxers and shower curtain plastic.

Cas perhaps guessed his intentions before Dean even knew of them, because the angel let go of his waist to instead rope his arms around the Winchester’s neck, licking and biting at the curve of his jaw, affording him a bit more freedom of movement. With an embarrassing clumsiness for someone of his sexual experience, Dean unzipped his pants and shimmied them off, pulling down his underwear as well before finally casting his clothes and that accursed shower curtain aside.

Dean had never fucked another man before and thus found himself at a loss for a second. The motions and the logistics of it where nowhere to be found in his emptied head - all there was in there was the undeniable fact that he wanted, _needed_ to feel Castiel, _all of him_, every square inch of his fever-hot, trembling flesh, as close to him as possible. His own skin was insanely oversensitive, with every touch from Cas feeling like either a burn or a bruise. Just pressing his dick against the angel’s brought him dangerously close to climax.

“Fuck, Cas…” hissed Dean.

“Dean”, breathed Cas in return.

The inane conversation of lovers having entirely lost their minds.

Dean reached down and grabbed the angel’s dick, trying to be careful but still making Cas yelp and buck his hips upwards at the sudden sensation. It felt startlingly similar to his own and yet completely different, and when Dean started stroking it, he marveled for an instant at how weird it felt to administer those familiar gestures to someone other than himself.

Castiel’s hand also found its way to Dean’s cock. He couldn’t suppress the sound that escaped him when he felt the lean fingers close firmly around his shaft, and when they started moving up and down, jerking him off, he realized there was no way in hell he’d be able to stop himself from moaning even more - he buried his face in the hollow of Castiel’s neck to at least try to save a modicum of his dignity.

It really didn’t take much time for Dean to reach the breaking point, and he bit down on Castiel’s shoulder to muffle a desperate sob as his cum spilled over the angel’s fingers.

Cas followed a literal second later, and as the blinding pleasure began to dissipate in Dean's body, he absent-mindedly wondered exactly what had sent him over the edge.

***

Silence returned to the motel bathroom, punctuated only by the still running shower and the heaving of the two men’s breaths. Dean and Cas were on the floor, skin against skin, limbs entangled. They both seemed either incapable or unwilling to pull themselves apart… or look each other in the eye.

Dean tentatively tangled his fingers in Castiel’s water-slick hair. He didn’t dare move more than that, knowing that if he did, the moment would be over, and there would be... _things_ to reckon with. He'd have to deal with the implications of what just happened, and he instinctively knew they would reach farther than he'd like.

Dean didn’t want to think about anything. The high was starting to subside, which incidentally made him realize how stupidly intense a high it had been. He wanted to just stay there forever, on that bathroom floor with the angel - “_my angel_”, he heard himself think, instantly kicking himself for how cheesy that sounded.

Then, making him realize that the world had had the gall to keep turning, Dean heard a door close in the distance. A familiar voice called out to him.

“Dean, are you still here?” asked Sammy, as his footsteps grew closer. “I can hear the water running in there, is everything okay?”

Dean swallowed awkwardly, suddenly panicking a little.

“Uh, yeah, everything’s fine”, he answered, doing his best to sound normal, which he _definitely_ was, because he was in _no way_ completely frazzled and beginning to rethink his whole identity, no sir. “Cas passed out in the shower, but he’s...”

Dean looked at Castiel underneath him, and saw that he was smiling slightly. Despite the exhaustion and a very obvious bite mark now reddening on his shoulder, he appeared amused as hell.

“He’s... alright.”

“Okay, well, as long as you’re in there, make sure he washes properly, cause I’m not sure he knows what shampoo is,” continued Sammy’s voice with a hint of mockery.

“...Uh… Roger that.”

Dean rose to his feet and stretched his sore shoulders. Then, chuckling under his breath, the awkwardness he was feeling mercifully dispelled, he stepped into the bathtub.

“Well, you heard the guy. Get back in here, we got work to do.”


End file.
